Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (30 page)

Wingate whispered in Allen’s ear, then turned to the group. “We agree.”

Skye stepped farther back, to make sure she remained unnoticed, and quietly slid a piece of paper and pen out of her purse. She had wanted to search the locker herself and had never gotten the opportunity, but this was probably better. She could see what they found, but wouldn’t have to worry about how to tell Wally if she found something important while conducting an unauthorized search.

Several minutes went by as books, papers, pens, pencils, makeup, and a sweater were taken out and examined. The last item was a small prescription bottle. Skye couldn’t see the label from where she was hidden, but Wally read the name out loud. It was the same diet pills that had been found at Kent’s, and the same drug that the tox screen listed as the cause of death. How many bottles of that stuff were floating around?

 

Back in the guidance office, after persuading Coach it was her turn to use the space, Skye consulted her appointment book. She was supposed to see several students that day, and she made sure to schedule Justin Boward and Frannie Ryan for the last period, although what she was going to do about them and the tox-screen report was a conundrum.

The afternoon dragged on and on. Finally, the eighth-hour bell sounded, and Justin appeared at her door; Frannie arrived soon afterward.

Once both teens were settled, Skye said to Justin, “Dr. Watson, I presume?”

The boy didn’t respond, but Frannie’s face paled.

Skye tried again. “Justin, I appreciate the help, but you must never do anything like that again.”

He stared at her without speaking. They were obviously back to the silent treatment.

She turned to the girl. “Frannie, why did you steal the report for Justin?”

The teen’s face flashed from white to red. “It wasn’t for him. I just wanted the whole thing to be over with, and he said you’d solve the murder long before the police ever would.”

“Thank you, Justin. That’s very flattering. But I don’t want either of you to get into trouble by trying to help me.”

Neither teen responded.

“Any ideas what we should do about this situation?” Skye looked from face to face.

Justin shrugged. “What situation? You’re in the clear, and the cops have Mr. Walker. Why should we do anything?”

“For one thing, I don’t think Mr. Walker is guilty. And when they find that out, they’ll start looking again.”

Frannie sagged in the chair. “Even dead, she’s the center of attention.”

“Worse than that, Frannie,” Skye said gently. “They have a witness who saw you after you took the report from Simon’s mail.”

Her sag became a slump. “What should I do?”

“Tell your dad and Mr. Reid what you did.”

“That’s bogus,” Justin protested, standing. “She’ll get into trouble, and it’s my fault. I asked her to do it.”

“Then I guess you’d better go with her,” Skye said.

The teens grumbled, but made sounds of agreement as they stood and headed for the door.

“Justin, one more thing. The day Lorelei was murdered, when you went backstage looking for a bathroom, were you talking to Mr. Walker before I got there?” Ever since Loretta had told her Kent’s fingerprints were on the band-room doorknob, Skye’d been wondering if it was his voice she’d heard talking to Justin that day.

The teen looked at the floor. “Yeah. He came in through that little door and took some stuff from his desk. He told me not to tell. Said it was just personal junk.”

Skye nodded. Another part of the puzzle revealed. “Okay, you can go now. You are going to talk to Mr. Reid, correct?”

Frannie and Justin both nodded.

After making sure the pair was out of earshot, she picked up the phone, dialed, and said, “Simon, you’re about to have company.” After she had explained, and extracted a promise that he’d be firm but not mean to the kids, she hung up.

The bell rang, and moments later Trixie stuck her head into the room. “Is the coast clear?”

“Sure. Come on in. What’s up?”

Trixie pulled up a chair and sat down. “Just wondering what’s going on with the Sleeping Beauty case. First the star and now the director—do you think they’ll go on with the show?”

Skye shrugged. “You heard about Kent?”

“Which version?” The brown curls on Trixie’s head bounced in time with her tapping toe.

Skye summed up what had happened, then asked, “Have the cheerleaders said anything about him?”

“He’s the main topic of conversation.”

“What do they think?”

“Well, they all knew Lorelei was sleeping with him, but they were sworn to secrecy.” Trixie grinned. “I find it hard to believe they actually kept quiet about the affair.”

“Interesting. What else did they know?”

“Certainly not about Kent and Mrs. Ingels. They think that’s just plain gross. Moms are not supposed to be having sex, especially with their daughter’s teacher.” Trixie made an oops face. “Oh, gee, I’m sorry. I forgot you dated him. You okay?”

“Fine. I really don’t care, which surprises me.” Skye studied her nails, but glanced sideways at Trixie as she said, “Maybe it’s because I never slept with him.”

Trixie nodded. “Or because you were just dating him to get back at the guy you really love.”

Skye was stunned by the suggestion. “And who would that be?”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Trixie met her gaze head-on. “Even you don’t really know.”

Skye slumped in her chair. Trixie was right. She wondered if she’d ever be able to let herself love someone again. Probably not until she faced her ex-fiancé. Since he had cleaned out their shared apartment and refused to see her, she had never really gotten to finish things with him.

Straightening up, Skye changed the subject again. “Hey, I remember something else I wanted to ask you.”

“What?” Trixie started to gather her belongings.

“When I walked through the girls’ locker room on my way to the pool the other day, I noticed a picture of Caresse Wren on her locker. I knew it was her locker, since they have the names on masking tape right on them. Why would she have her own picture on the outside of her locker?”

Trixie, standing in the threshold, giggled. “I asked that, too. She said she put the picture up so when she forgot her name, she could still find her uniform.”

“Was she serious?”

“I was afraid to ask,” Trixie said over her shoulder on her way out.

Skye slumped in her desk and tried to figure out what was bothering her. She picked up a pen and paper and started to jot down words and phrases as they came to mind. Time ticked by, and the school grew quiet.

Finally, she looked at the legal pad in front of her. She had been writing the word “locker” over and over. Why? The contents of Lorelei’s locker had been unsurprising. Even the diet pills meant little since they were the teen’s own prescription.

What message wasn’t she getting? It was odd that Lorelei didn’t have any pictures hung on the inside of her locker. Skye grinned, thinking of Trixie’s story about Caresse Wren with the picture on the outside.

That was it! Cheerleaders had a second locker: one in the gym. Had anyone thought to look at Lorelei’s cheerleader locker?

Skye sprang from her chair and rushed out the door. The halls were empty. Her heels clicked eerily on the faded linoleum, and a dank smell assaulted her nostrils, making her feel as if she were about to sneeze. Where had everyone disappeared to?

She looked at her watch. It was past six. Both staff and students were long gone. She pushed through the double doors and into the darkened gym. The humid odor was stronger in there, and the silence more pronounced. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and she shivered.

Without warning, her mind turned to all the scary movies and murder mysteries she had read. She jerked her hand back from the door to the girls’ locker room. What if the killer were waiting on the other side? There wouldn’t be anyone to hear her scream.

This was silly. No one could know she’d choose this day and time to come here. She had to stop reading suspense thrillers.

She took a deep breath and pushed. The door swung open without a sound. Complete darkness greeted her. She fumbled for a light switch and finally found it, flooding the room with glaring illumination. Lockers lined the walls and stood in rows that formed dark aisles. Benches were bolted to the floor, and a huge tiled shower took up a corner of the room.

The place smelled of chlorine from the adjacent pool, sweat, and stale perfume. Skye’s footsteps echoed as she made her way to the section that held the cheerleaders’ lockers. A dozen shiny aqua rectangles were set apart from the gray of the other lockers. Each held a piece of tape on which was written the girl’s name, and a padlock.

Skye stared at the padlock.
Shit!
How would she get that opened?
Wait
. She moved closer. There was a slight gap. Lorelei’s lock wasn’t fastened. She swung the door open and peered inside but couldn’t see anything. She reached in and felt nothing. The locker was empty. That was why the padlock was open. Someone, probably Lorelei’s parents, had beaten her to the punch and already cleared it out.

She sank onto the wooden bench, out of ideas. After a moment her gaze was drawn back to the bank of lockers—two metal cubes across and six down. Lorelei’s locker was in the top row, nearest the wall.

Skye squinted. The lockers were perfect squares, but the wall wasn’t straight. A vee formed between the wall and lockers. She got up and ran her hand up the gap where lockers and wall joined together. It was a tight fit down near the floor, but widened bit by bit as her fingers moved toward the top. There she could fit her hand into the fissure all the way up to her wrist. The opening was deeper than she expected. Skye stretched her fingers as far as she could, but felt nothing. She needed a long, thin probe.

She looked around, then hurried into the gym teacher’s office and returned with a hanger. After carefully unbending the wire, leaving the neck curved in semicircle, she inserted it into the cleft. After a few seconds, she felt the probe bump up against something. With a little maneuvering she was able to encircle the object with the hook and pull out her prize.

It looked like a book of poetry—slim with a flowered cover. Skye’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. All that work for nothing. Idly she flipped it open. Instead of the poems she expected, handwriting greeted her. It was Lorelei’s diary.

Skye wasn’t surprised to see the volume. In the back of her mind, she had always suspected that one might exist. Ever since she had been at the school district, the kids had been taught to keep journals, starting in kindergarten. Many adolescent girls continued the practice in private.

She was torn. What should she do with her find? It seemed such an invasion of privacy to read what the dead girl had never intended anyone else to see. On the other hand, if it led to her killer, was there any other choice? Giving the diary to Wally seemed worse somehow. She wasn’t sure that he would understand a young woman’s innermost thoughts.

No matter what she decided, she had a sudden urge to get out of the building. After tucking the book in her pocket, she put everything back the way she had found it and turned off the light. She hurried out of the gym, grabbed her tote bag from the guidance office, and headed for her car.

The five-minute ride home was excruciating. Skye could feel the diary almost pulsing in her pocket. Bingo was waiting for her as she skyrocketed through the front door of her cottage. He insisted on being fed before she did anything else.

Finally, she could sink onto her sofa and open the book.

 

 

 

 

A
sigh escaped Skye’s lips as she closed Lorelei’s diary. Talk about looks being deceptive. On the surface, this was a girl who had everything—beauty, brains, popularity, and a prominent family name. Yet in the teen’s perception, none of it was enough. Skye clearly remembered the pain of her own adolescence and felt the agony behind each of Lorelei’s paragraphs.